Page 26 of Endgame

He doesn’t think twice. “Already made a note of that, beautiful.”

Seconds pass before I can think through our recent interactions, and it makes me curious. “What’s your endgame here, Callaway? It feels a lot like you’re flirting with me.”

He grins. Because of course he grins. Is he evernotgrinning?

“Oh, I’m most definitely flirting with you. The sooner you catch up, the easier this will be for us.”

What? Why? Confused is a mild term for how I’m feeling right now.

“You barely know me.”

He stills, lost in thought for a moment.

“You’re right. But you’ve given me enough pieces of yourself for me to know you’re worth learning about. Your words have all but told me to fuck off, but your body, it lights up when I’m around. I feel it and I know you feel it too.”

Mother trucker at a pit stop.

I snap in confusion. “I’m dark and damaged. My heart is probably filled with black coal.”

“You’re healing.” Intuitive, is he?

“I’m terrible at managing my emotions. I lash out and snap at everything.”

“I can handle it.” He winks, making his translation clear.

“You’re Navy’s brother.” That calls for a pause.

“Let me handle my sister.”

No. This can’t happen.

“Never going to happen. You should stop while you’re ahead. But in all seriousness…do you haveanyfaults?” I say boldly. I am a little shocked at how easy being around him feels despite giving him my rejection.

“I’m currently living my biggest fault of all—playing bitch boy for my roommates.”

My eyes scan over his cart after being wholly distracted by other things. I chuckle with him as soon as my eyes land on the most random item.

I’m not sure how I missed that.

“Chamomile tea? Is that what you call a nightcap at your age?”

He pretends to look shocked, quickly reaching across me to grab a gallon of milk and placing it into his cart. His smell is divine—cedar and citrus. It’s grounding and earthy, while the softness in the paired notes feels like his body's natural fragrance.

“Listen, I’ll have you know, this thirty-year-old can run circles around rookies. I’m well equipped and well endowed with stamina like you wouldn’t believe.”

His arms raise in a familiar stance. Oh God, don’t do it.No.

Callaway Hayes is flexing in the milk aisle without a care in the world who’s watching. His big, muscular biceps are raised, looking ridiculous and making me question why I’ve been avoiding this kind of fun for so long. My heart clues me in that he’s pulling out all the stops to make me laugh, and his playfulness might be what I need, but my brain is telling me this guy could destroy me.

Unless I get to him first.

That’s something I don’t think I can handle or want to risk trying. He’s too important to Navy.

Callaway is the starting pitcher of a Major League baseball team. He tirelessly travels across the country nearly a hundred and eighty days out of the year. The man couldn’t look remotely bad if he tried. He makes athletic shorts and a Fruit of the Loom t-shirt look like a delicacy; that’s not even taking into account the women. He’s been seen with hundreds of beautiful women. I know firsthand from Navy they’ve never been anything more than a quick fuck.

Why does the idea of that make me sick to my stomach?

Lately, though, the tabloids have been strangely sparse on Playboy Callaway.

---